


just caught the sun bathing

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Pink Undies Sunday, Sun Bathing, intercurial sex, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four flights of stairs up, Stiles is sweating like mad and he’s cursing Derek under his breath. “Better have a damn good reason to be up here.” He mutters, breathing out in relief when he sees the end in sight. His feet bang against the stairs a few times, made clumsy with haste. But he manages to make it to the top without falling forward.</p><p>The first thing Stiles spies, once he’s on top, is the giant umbrella propped up several feet away. “You gotta be kidding me.” He declares, feeling his throat go dry when he notices the figure lying on the beach lounge chair.<br/>--<br/>Stiles catches Derek sunbathing on the roof. And he's totally naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just caught the sun bathing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Anna and Tina for their ‘encouragement and inspiration’ XD Shit on a stick, forgot to mention that the last scene was inspired by [this beautiful fanart](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com/post/107344119310/virtualcarrot-this-was-supposed-to-be-a-pink)

A quick around the room does not reveal the werewolf Stiles is here to see. “Where’s Derek?” He asks Isaac and Scott, who are lounging around on the couch, stepping deeper into the apartment before leaning into the kitchen. Nope, no dark haired, frowny werewolves in there. If Derek's not  in the living room or kitchen, then he has to be…  
  


"He’s not in the bathroom, is he?" Stiles inquires, eyes skipping past the bathroom door and towards the bedroom. Ooo could Derek be taking a nap? He’s wanted to wake Derek up via blowjob for a while now! Or maybe catch a nap himself and have some afternoon delight. So many possibilities, so little time. And this new apartment isn't an open space, meaning he could cajole Derek into having sex and Scott and Isaac would be none the wi-  
  


Something soft smacks against his head, making the teenager jump. “Don’t even think about it.” Scott threatens from his spot, holding a second pillow up. “Remember the rules! No hanky panky when company is around.”  
  


Over Isaac snorts, Stiles teases his best friend. “Hanky panky? Really? If you can’t say sex then I don’t think you’re old enough to be having sex. Just saying.”  
  


Another cushion is lobbed his way, blue this time. Stiles side steps it easily. It hits the wall with a sad 'fwup' before sliding down a few feet away from its teal brother. “Shut up! The last thing I want to think about is you and Derek having… doing… urgh." Scott groans and sits back down, arms crossed over his chest. "Nope. I’m just not. It’s like imagining your brothers doing it.” He shudders, pointedly facing the movie playing on the TV.  
  


Isaac’s muffling his laughter well enough that Stiles can’t hear him but there's no mistaking his shaking body for anything other than amusement given the conversation.

 

“So where is he then?” Stiles begins to walk over towards the bedroom, sticking his head into the tiny bathroom along the way just to be sure. Nothing but cold tiles and an impressive array of hair products.

 

"Upstairs." Isaac pipes up. "On the roof."   
  


Immediately changing his route, Stiles gives his thanks and heads over to the window. Stepping out on the fire escape, Stiles squints at the bright sunlight, shading his eyes with a hand before sighing as he immediately begins to feel warm. It's not even noon yet but the light is hot. And it’s only going to get hotter today. As he heads up to the roof, Stiles begins to miss the air conditioned apartment and wonders what Derek’s doing on the roof.   
  


Four flights of stairs up, Stiles is sweating like mad and he’s cursing Derek under his breath. “Better have a damn good reason to be up here.” He mutters, breathing out in relief when he sees the end in sight. His feet bang against the stairs a few times, made clumsy with haste. But he manages to make it to the top without falling forward.  
  


The first thing Stiles spies, once he’s on top, is the giant umbrella propped up several feet away. “You gotta be kidding me.” He declares, feeling his throat go dry when he notices the figure lying on the beach lounge chair.   
  


Derek’s lying on his stomach on top of a folding lounge chair, head pillowed on his arms.  _Naked_.

 

He’s only wearing are his aviators, dozing in the hot sun while Stiles tries not to choke on his own spit. Stiles is extremely aware of his tongue in that moment, eyes greedily taking in Derek’s naked figure.  _'Jesus.'_  Stiles thinks dumbly to himself when he sees the small bottle resting on the concrete.  _'Is that tanning oil?'_  
  


But there's no resisting the siren call of Derek's toned, naked body. Stiles' eyes quickly return to admiring the way the sun is caressing Derek's skin. Gaze lingering on Derek’s ass, Stiles mumbles, “That explains the full body tan at least.” He rubs his hands against his sweaty palms, approaching the werewolf quietly. Stiles takes care to ensure his heels don’t drag on the asphalt and his breathing shallow but low. As he sneaks forward, Stiles wonders if Derek is asleep.  
  


"Derek?" The young man ducks down to Derek’s eye level, an extremely difficult task considering the sight the werewolf is making. Guuh. Stiles just wants to run his hands all over Derek’s glistening body. Then straddle his hips and rub his hardening cock against Derek’s perfect ass. And maybe get a few thrusts in between Derek's thighs. Stiles isn’t sure if he wants to fuck Derek, let Derek fuck him or just beat one off on the man’s ass.   
  


_'Too many choices.'_  Stiles bemoans to himself, touching Derek’s shoulder and giving it a gentle shake. “Derek?” He asks, stomach twisted and melting at the quiet, sleepy grunt the werewolf lets out, his eyebrows furrowing in unhappiness. “What’re you doing up here?”  
  


"Tanning. What’s it look like." Derek’s rough voice is pretty close to the way he sounds after Stiles has thoroughly fucked the man’s mouth. So it’s no surprise that Stiles’ half chub goes into full, helped by the way Derek stretches and relaxes in his chair, still face down on the chair.   
  


There’s too many to look at and Stiles’ brain is having a field day. His eyes keep moving between Derek’s tattoo, his shoulder blades, the lower back muscle, his ass, the thighs, even the soles of his  _feet_  are turning Stiles on. He feels Derek’s hand tugging on his jeans. Stiles looks down at the hand before following it up. “Grab the bottle.” Derek yawns, turning his face the other way. “Do my back.”  
  


Stiles smirks to himself - yeah he’d like to do Derek’s back alright. But that’s probably not what Derek means. He ducks down to grab the bottle, and pops the top open. For a long moment where all his brain can do is drool, Stiles looks at Derek. Looks at the bottle. Looks back at Derek. Looks around before shrugging and peeling his clothes off.

 

They might get dirty because of the oil, that’s what Stiles reasons as he strips off his underwear.  
  


Limbs moving before his brain, Stiles carefully straddles Derek’s hips before pouring some of the slick oil into his palm. Putting the bottle down, Stiles rubs his hands together before looking down at Derek. It’s a pleasant dilemma to ponder where he what part of Derek he wants to get his hands on first - the shoulders or the ass. It makes Stiles wish he had four hands.  
  


Derek rolls his shoulders, which settles that debate. Stiles sweeps his hands over the broad expanse of the werewolf’s back, keeping his hips high enough for his dick to  _not_  touch Derek’s ass. Not yet anyways. He takes his time to get Derek oiled well and good, using his fingertips to trace the man’s tattoo a few times before kneading the lower back muscles.  
  


While he intends to take his time, Stiles’ libido has other plans. The desire to kiss Derek wins out in no time and Stiles finds himself leaning down to nip and mouth at the pink tipped ear right in his sight. Derek’s pleased sigh and the way he sinks into his seat makes Stiles grin and give the man’s ass a good squeeze.   
  


"What are you planning?" Derek asks, rolling his hips up into Stiles’ hands and dick. The breathless tone makes Stiles’ knees go weak. Actually weak. His body trembles before falling forward on top of Derek, like he’s a big blanket and the only one he wants to wrap around is Derek.  
  


Derek lets out a surprised grunt - maybe because of the way Stiles is draped over him or maybe because of the way Stiles’ dick is now snug between Derek’s cheeks. “Can I?” Stiles pleads, moving his hips in slow back and forth motions. "I wanna try something."  
  


Without any hesitation, Derek brings one hand back to rest against Stiles’ thighs before he says, “Go ahead.” A tiny part of him wants to cry at the level of trust Derek is showing him. Stiles tries to express it by nuzzling and kissing the nape of Derek’s neck before pushing himself up on his arms and looking down between them. He's going to need more oil. Stiles reaches down to grab the bottle again. His hands shake as he tips the bottle, cursing when some of the liquid falls on Derek's ass. Derek lets out a pleased little noise that has Stiles' slick hands reaching down to squeeze the base of his dick.   
  


His hand freezes when he sees the oil lazily slide down the perfect curve that is Derek's ass, skirt over his puckered hole and slide down his balls. Derek wriggles slightly in response. Stiles bites down on his chapped bottom lip and reaches down to smear the oil into Derek's skin. Every twitch Derek's hole makes against his fingertip makes Stiles' cock throb. His mouth falls open when he manages to stick his fingers between Derek's hot thighs. Stiles moans when Derek's only response is to open his thighs up  _just_ enough for Stiles' hand to feel comfortably snug.

 

Stiles pours the tanning oil over his dick before letting the bottle drop. The plastic clunks heavily as it hits concrete. He can't be bothered to check if it's leaking all over the concrete because it's _so_ much more important to rub his dick between Derek's ass, slow and careful. The air between them is heavy with the scent of the oil and heated concrete. Stiles greedily sucks it in, mesmerized at how his glans snags just barely against Derek's hole.

 

The second time that happens, Derek's hand comes up to grab Stiles' cock and guides him into the slick, hot space between his thighs. The second between Derek's hand letting go and his thighs squeezing around Stiles' dick is the single most painful moment of his life. But as soon as Derek's thighs close around him and his hips move back, Stiles's brain snaps.

 

His hips move of their own accord, thrusting against Derek's ass hard enough for loud smacks to ring in the air. Stiles' hands press into Derek's shoulders, keeping him down. Stiles pants, staring wide eyed at Derek who is letting him hold him down. He wonderes how this would feel if he had foreskin. How Derek feels right now. Would Derek let him fuck him like this, out in the open? Or could he turn over? 

 

Whining, Stiles drops back down and pants against Derek’s hair. “Der…” He moans loudly, deciding that this is much better than being downstairs in Derek’s bed. Derek’s hand tightens for a moment before peeling away. It returns to sink into Stiles’ hair, pulling his face down into a sloppy non-kiss which has them both panting. They breath hot air into each other's mouths, too gone to say anything but broken versions of the other's name.  
  


Derek slaps a hand against Stiles' ass, holding him in place as he begins to work his ass up in an uneven rhythm. As they pant against each other’s mouths, their hips move faster and faster until Stiles is ready to beg Derek to let him fuck the man. He doesn't care if they're out in the open, or that someone might be watching them from across the street with a telescope. Stiles just wants his dick in Derek, or Derek's dick in him, _he doesn't care_. 

 

He’s moaning that into Derek’s shoulder when he feels the body underneath him stiffen and then shudder. 

 

Stiles blinks. A drop of sweat falls off his eyelash and onto Derek's shaking back, rolling off his golden skin.

 

“Did you?” Stiles moans his question, already knowing the answer because there's a wetness growing between Derek's thighs. It's sticky and hot and there's no mistaking what it is. Stiles thrusts harder between Derek's thighs, moaning hotly when the tip of his cock smears into Derek's cum,

 

Stiles can feel his orgasm coming, the tight coil in his gut winding tighter and tighter until he feels the wetness between Derek’s dick and the lounge chair grow. It's going to stain probably. There's going to be a permanent mark on Derek's favorite lounge chair of this moment; when Stiles fucked Derek's thighs and made him come just from that.

 

And Stiles is done. He buries his face into Derek’s shoulder, fucking  _whimpers_ as he ruts through his orgasm, adding to the wet spot Derek’s now lying in.   
  


As he lies on top of Derek's warm back, Stiles re-learns how to breath. With his cheek pressed against Derek's neck, he sucks in the warm air while slowly coming back to equilibrium. The first thing he realizes is that he’s too warm and that by lying on top of Derek, they both have only gotten more sweaty. After that, Stiles hums pleasantly at the pleasant breeze that whispers over them, cooling him down significantly. Thirdly, Stiles realizes Derek’s petting his hair and saying something that isn’t filtering in through the buzzing noise in his ears.  
  


"Say what?" Stiles slurs, bottom lip dragging against Derek’s warm skin. He runs his tongue over his lips to taste Derek's sweat and smiles.  
  


The man sighs before turning over, miraculously not jostling Stiles out of his position. Even his stupid aviators are still in place when he asks, “Do you want me to do your back?”   
  


His back? Stiles frowns down in confusion before he realizes what Derek is asking. Peeking up at the umbrella shading their heads, Stiles nods before relaxing on top of Derek. “You’re sweaty.” He points out sleepily while Derek shifts to grab the oil bottle.   
  


"Look who’s talking." The werewolf retorts, snapping the bottle open. Stiles tries to kick Derek’s legs but it’s kind of impossible to do it properly in their current position so he nips on Derek’s neck. Derek retaliated by pinching his ass before kneading the firm muscles there. As far as punishments go, it’s not bad.   
  


Before he knows it, Stiles drifts away to sleep - feeling warm, content and happy as Derek's hands move slowly over his back.  
  


—

"This is all your fault." Stiles complains several hours later from his spot on the sofa, hissing as Derek rubs the soothing aloe over his sunburnt back. He's lying on his stomach on the couch, groaning. "You know I burn easily! You shoulda reminded me of that!"  
  


"I  _did_  try to wake you up but you bit my fingers. Remember that?” Derek reminds him, perched on the very edge of the cushion. His hands dip under the pink boxers Stiles is wearing, rubbing the aloe over the pink skin under the soft cotton. Stiles  _cannot_  believe he got sunburnt  _this_ bad.   
  


He looks over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “No I didn’t. I’m not the biter in this relationship.”   
  


The werewolf levels him with a dry look before shaking his head and moving down to deal with Stiles’ legs. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”


End file.
